


A Mother Weeping All Alone

by TheWaffleBat



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Adoption?, Baby!Geralt, Gen, Headcanon, I don't know how to tag this, Mentions of Infanticide, Sad, Vesemir's literal surprise child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: “Me fellows” Visenna murmured eventually, “Said to spare ‘im the pain, throw him tae the sea an’ Freya would take ‘him to her breast. But I can’t, Vesemir - I won’, and if tha’ means I’ll never see him again, ‘cause he’s died or ‘cause he’s witcher, then at least I’ll know I did all I could. Please, Vesemir,” She said, unslung the plaid from around her shoulders and put the babe in Vesemir’s arm, bundling them together so the child wouldn’t fall from his unpracticed hold. Took a breath deep into her lungs, let it out slowly. “Take Geralt, make him a witcher - it’s all I ask.”Visenna can't help her own child. Vesemir isn't so sure he can do any better.





	A Mother Weeping All Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Oscar Wilde's _A Lament._

The baby in Visenna’s skinny arms was a tiny little wisp of a thing, too scrawny for such a new babe, too quiet. There was no squalling for attention, no screeching that it was hungry. Just a little thing, bundled up against the Skellige winter cold that never left its isles. It cooed once or twice, murmuring to itself or Visenna, but she paid it no mind; watched the puffins spilling around her feet, dipping into their underground burrows pockmarking the grass; calm around her as they weren’t for Vesemir, scattering from his silent wake.

She didn’t hear him - she’d have said something if she had, because she’d invited him; had something to give him, she’d said, dropping to a bench at the inn he was drinking in opposite him, tired-bruised eyes and more lines in her face than she should have for such a young woman. A favour to ask of him without guarantee she could ever repay it. Payment for him saving her life so long ago, if he wanted to see it like that.

But he didn’t say anything, wondered why she had a child in an An-Craite plaid sling across her chest and then wondered why he was confused; perhaps the child’s mother was dead, lost to complication in its birth when even the druids’ magic failed to help, or to monsters, and Visenna was caring for it until a foster family could be found. Perhaps the child meant nothing, she was simply acting babysitter for now, though - and not for the life of him could he explain why - Vesemir didn’t all believe even himself on that. Perhaps he was only making mountains out of molehills, old age making him wistful and melancholy and a tad superstitious.

The goat at her side bleated welcome when Vesemir stepped forward a little more, easily dodging the puffin nests even with armour padded heavy against the cold making him a little ungainly, unused to walking with witcher’s grace with so much unnecessary weight. “Visenna,” He said. The druidess said nothing, though the little baby looked at him with too-keen eyes. “Odd place for a meeting, don’t you think? Especially with that babe to your breast. We could go to the inn, if you’d like? It’s out of the cold, at least.”

“Don’t want no one to overhear,” She said, dropping her hand to the goat’s head and rubbing its ear; a little sadly, though Vesemir didn’t see why. “I’d-...” She sighed harshly, dropped her head and pressed her mouth to the little baby’s forehead; kissing its shockingly red fluff of hair. “This ain’t something other people should know about.”

“And what is it about?” Asked Vesemir, impatience curling hot in his chest; it was _cold_ , and he was _old_ , and he didn’t have the time to stand on a clifftop while clouds, dark and heavy with the coming storm acrid on the cold wind, blew in from the sea, her red hair billowing dramatically. “I’d to at least _know_ why I have to stand here with you, my bones frosting over in this damn weather.”

Visenna didn’t answer, and Vesemir bared his teeth against being forced to wait while she stroked the baby’s head and the babe cooed at her, working one skinny arm free to push idly at the coverings over her breast, no real hunger in the movement or at least knowing that pushing wouldn’t satisfy any hunger it did have. She stroked the red hair feathery over the babe’s head, patchy and and thin. The child murmured, caught her fingers and stuck them contentedly in its mouth.

“I’d like you take him, Vesemir,” She said, turning her eyes on him. “The babe. Won’t survive here with me.” Visenna turned back to the child, pressed another kiss to his head and rubbed at her wet eyes, smiling for him when the babe reached out for her hair. “Can you hear it? His heart? Got a hole in it no magic can fix, and trust me when I say I tried my damnedest. Listen to his lungs - hear them? Wet as a whale’s. Can’t sleep without thinkin’ his little heart’ll stop, or his lungs’ll be too wet for him to breathe.”

Vesemir listened, and under the crash of waves hurling themselves against the base of the cliffs, churning themselves muddy with silt and sand, and the wind flinging itself past his ears he heard it; the rush of blood in his heart made wrong, a _whoosh_ instead of a _beat_. Could _see_ it, even; the boy’s skin bluish and unhealthy. Breathing too quick, and he had to agree with Visenna it didn’t sound good even beside its unusual rhythm.

It might be that she was panicking over the state of his heart for no reason. Vesemir was a witcher; he’d spent a lot of time with healers, and usually when they weren’t pushing together the two sides of a cut to sew him back together they liked to talk to him, sometimes about the weather and sometimes about patients they had, though without any names. They said that sometimes childrens’ weak hearts healed on their own as they grew. Maybe the babe swaddled against Visenna’s chest would heal the same the same way.

But his lungs, Vesemir thought, grimacing. His lungs were another matter entirely; he knew children born with wet lungs rarely survived.

“I don’t see how it’s any problem of mine, I’m no mage. Or healer,” He said finally.

Visenna scowled at him. “You think I don’t know tha’?” She said, but the anger disappeared just as suddenly as it had come and she closed her eyes against the sight of Vesemir; turned back to the sea and stroked the babe’s head. “No magic will work on him,” She murmured. Turned her head away. “But the Trials might.”

“No.”

“ _Yes_!” Visenna insisted, turning back to him, fury bright in her snarl now, determination steely as a blade in her eyes. “It’s his only chance, Vesemir! Damned if we do, damned if we don’t, an’ at least this way he stands a fuckin’ _chance_!”

Vesemir snarled back at her, just as fiercely. “What do you think the Trials _are_? He’ll die in _agony_! Just as well he stays here with you, with herbs to ease his passing!”

Visenna only hissed, the little babe at her chest wheezing a little as the wind blew in wet from the sea. The goat bleated a little plaintively, nibbling at the swaddling. “And better he has the chance than nothing else!” She snapped. “If he dies then so be it! I’d rather’ve done somethin’ than nothin’ at all, and at least I can give him this last chance when all else failed.”

Vesemir watched her steadily. Visenna deflated slowly, went back to watching the sea and stroking the babe’s head. She bowed her own head to Skellige’s waters, looked down at the tiny little scrap of a thing in her skinny, pale arms; rubbed the tiny strands of hair as shockingly red as her own, the skin underneath the blue tinge as pale as her own, the eyes that looked at Vesemir too keenly the same cold blue as Visenna’s looking down at the child.

Vesemir turned away from the babe’s too-intent gaze, crossed his arms and looked out at the sea with her, clouds growing heavy and fat with coming rain overhead. The goat kept nibbling. “Why does this matter you, Visenna?”

She swallowed, cleared her throat. “He’s mine,” Visenna said, hushed. “An’ don’t remind me it’s impossible - I know tha’ well enough. But it’s true - I should know, I damn well carried him for seven months.” She stroked the child's face, tracing around the shape of his eyes. Vesemir wondered how much he saw of his mother, what he thought about her. “I’d hoped-” She shook her head, swallowed again and Skellige brogue going rougher, more obvious. “Well, didn’ae matter then, don’t matter now. He’s mine, an’ he’s payin’ the price for tha’. Can barely breathe in the wrong weather, gets cold at the slightes’ chill. An’-”

She bowed her head lower, shame hot on her cheeks, bright around her ears and dark in her eyes when she turned to Vesemir, tears wet down her face. “I can’ even fuckin’ _feed_ ‘im. You know wha’ tha’s like? I cannae even feed ‘im. Don’t make much of anythin’, an’ what I do make he spits out or can’ keep down. Had’tae get this blasted goat to do it for me.” She shuddered miserably, hunched over her child. “I cannae even do that one thing for ‘im. One _fuckin_ ’ thing.”

Vesemir looked away from her, swallowed because he should say something, but what _could_ he say? There was nothing to make it right. He had nothing to give except to let Visenna compose herself, keeping his eyes from her as she scrubbed at her face and settled her babe more comfortably against her chest.

“Me fellows” Visenna murmured eventually, “Said to spare ‘im the pain, throw him tae the sea an’ Freya would take ‘him to her breast. But I _can’t_ , Vesemir - I won’, and if tha’ means I’ll never see him again, ‘cause he’s died or ‘cause he’s witcher, then at least I’ll know I did all I could. Please, Vesemir,” She said, unslung the plaid from around her shoulders and put the babe in Vesemir’s arm, bundling them together so the child wouldn’t fall from his unpracticed hold. Took a breath deep into her lungs, let it out slowly. “Take Geralt, make him a witcher - it’s all I ask.”

“I don’t know the first again about raising babies,” Said Vesemir, looking down at Geralt, who burbled quite contentedly in a stranger’s arms and pawed at Vesemir’s medallion, curious about the roaring wolf’s head. “None of us do, and in case you haven’t noticed witchers are men - we’ve got no woman or wetnurse for him.”

Visenna shoved the goat’s lead into Vesemir’s hand. “She’ll do it,” Said Visenna, “She’s done it this long - got attached, now. Dare say Geralt wouldn’ae be too happy if you got him another goat either. _Please_ ,” She said again, staring up at him so earnestly that Vesemir had to turn his face away, heart aching inside his chest because _damn it_ , he wasn’t cut out for this. “Please.”

He'd never been very good at telling her no, not when she'd been a younger woman new to her sorceress training and begged him to invoke the Law of Surprise, she had nothing else to give him for saving her, and certainly not with her face pleading him to take Geralt under his wing. “All right,” Vesemir said. “All right, Visenna. I’ll take him. But I’m not making any promises; the Trials are gruelling enough for healthy boys. It’s just as likely he’ll die from them as these defects of his.”

“I don’t care,” Visenna said. “Even the smallest chance the gods give him, I’ll take. Freya’ll have mercy on him,” She added, gave a last kiss to Geralt’s head. “She _will_ , I’m sure of it. Freya’ll have mercy.”

Little Geralt went quiet, blinking slowly; still holding Vesemir's medallion. Vesemir tucked his hands back below the swaddling, found thick wolf's fur keeping him warm below the plaid. "And what will I tell him? About his family? I'll not lie to him about you. Even if I _did_ ," Vesemir added sternly, seeing Visenna scowl at him like he'd betrayed her, "He'd find out eventually. They always do."

"Then tell him," Said Visenna, in a way that told him that she wasn't happy about it but also knew she was giving up any right she had to tell him not to. "Tell 'im his mum was Visenna the druid, a sorceress. That his da was Korin. Tell 'im I weren't willing tae raise him, and tae put any thought o' me from his mind." She sighed, harsh and short, and Visenna pushed at Vesemir, gentle to not disturb Geralt sleeping as soundly as his wet breaths would allow. “Go, back to the warm. Storm’s goin’ tae break, an’ if I look at ‘im a moment longer I don’t think I could see him go.”

Vesemir obeyed, turned to his horse and tied the goat's lead to the saddle; mounted as best he could with a child at his chest. Looked back at Visenna, stood there with her head bowed against the storm heavy in the icy wind, tension tight in her shoulders, her hands clenched to fists at her side as she forced herself not to look back at them. She put her face in her hands.

“Come on Geralt,” Vesemir said, “Let’s get you back to the warm, I'm sure the inkeep at Kaer Trolde won't mind you staying with me. Maybe get the both of us fed, would you like that? And we’ll catch a ship for the mainland in the morning - it seems Kaer Morhen waits.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a disappointing lack of attention on Vesemir, so I thought fuck it, I'll do it myself.
> 
> Please note that I don't know too much about Visenna, so please let me know if anything's wrong. The fact that I see her as Skellige is purely because I love Skellige, and she had to come from somewhere.
> 
> And about the goat; I can't say anything about the majority of human history, but orphanages in 18th century britain apparently used to use goats to feed babies when wetnurses weren't available. It was safer than most other forms of milk, I'd imagine cheaper than a wetnurse, and apparently the goats were quite happy to do it.
> 
> Donkeys were also used, but I'm not too sure about how widespread it was. [This](https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2007/nov/17/familyandrelationships.family2) explains some of it, but it is the Guardian and I trust [Stephen Fry](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vLGVaNxd92Q) a lot more. The Witcher series isn't based on 18th britain, true, but I'd put money on it not being a new idea.
> 
> I don't know how to drive, but I know this. I really shouldn't be allowed to be a legal adult.


End file.
